


Royal Love

by anonymousorly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Buckingham Palace, Coming Out, Famous Louis, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Inappropriate amount of f-bombs, M/M, Palace sex, Prince Harry Styles, Royal Harry, Royal Variety Show, Singer Louis, fancy dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousorly/pseuds/anonymousorly
Summary: AU: Harry is a prince, Louis is in a boyband. [1dkinkmeme]Prompt: "When the band perform at the Royal Variety show and meet the royal family, Louis can't get the Prince out of his head. When their paths cross again, Louis finds out Harry feels the same way and together they embark on a forbidden relationship."





	1. Chapter 1

Louis wipes his (severely) sweating palms on the top of his very expensive, tailored Burberry pants and watches nervously and dreadfully as the Queen – the fucking _Queen_ of the goddamn _United Kingdom_ – slowly makes her way down the line of standing people with her daughter Princess Gemma and son Prince Harry behind her.

Zayn puts a heavy yet comforting hand on his shoulder, whispers in his ear, "Queen Anne has been doing this since she was three years old."

"I'm about to turn the Queen of England's hand into a fucking clam, Zayn," he quickly replies in a hush as he hears her voice talking so much more close now.

"She always wears gloves, fool. And I'm sure she'll hardly remember you in the morning."

Niall pipes in, "Unlike all those other 'queens' you've met and fucked."

Louis narrows his eyes. "Thanks. Really."

Liam nudges Niall as Zayn chuckles quite a bit too loudly, clearing his throat as Queen Anne steps in front of them with her famous perfect smile on her face.

"You four are the band One Direction, yeah?" she asks while looking at Liam before scanning the other three.

Liam nods and takes her extended (covered) hand, lowering his head and bending his knees. The boys voted beforehand that Liam would greet Queen Anne first because he could represent them better with how composed he was. It was a Juror 1 relation.

"We are, Your Majesty. We met on X-Factor and Simon Cowell basically paved our way."

Queen Anne chuckles and continues on to Niall, who repeats Liam's actions. "Mr. Cowell has quite a personality, doesn't he? He's been asking me on a date since we met two years ago."

Zayn gently takes her hand next and she goes on with her story. "For typical girls, the rule of thumb is to wait three days before answering. I figured, hey, what's three years?"

Liam smiles and Zayn laughs, says, "I like your style, Your Majesty."

"So, will you give him a chance in three years, then?" Niall asks, curious and genuine.

Louis nudges him hard. "Don't be rude, mate."

"Don't be violent in front of her, Lou," Liam hisses around Zayn.

Queen Anne laughs, a real laugh that comes when unanticipated and not on cue, and takes Niall's hand with a shrug. "We'll see. King Simon. How's that sound, hmm?"

"Sounds like King Robin having a public hanging in front of Victoria's Memorial," Louis comments bluntly as he shakes Queen Anne's hand inside of his trembling one.

She joyfully laughs again and looks at each member one last time. "You young men are such a delight. I'm excited to see you perform. Enjoy yourselves tonight."

Louis sighs in relief loudly and Zayn rubs his back. "Wasn't too terrible."

"Not over yet, mate," Louis says as he nods to Princess Gemma shaking Liam's hand.

"My son and daughter absolutely adore you guys and your music. They have me play it as I drop them at school and during Lexi's bathtime– oh, she has the _biggest_ crush on you, Niall."

Louis looks passed Princess Gemma to Prince Harry, who's smile is small and hesitant. Princess Gemma is known for her strong and friendly presence but Prince Harry is almost the complete opposite, minimal with words and borderline standoffish. His royal cousins are on tabloid daily, partying and boozing and falling on sidewalks; even Princess Gemma had a few when she was younger. But not Prince Harry. The unspoken assumption is that he has social anxiety, which is unfortunate in his position, so many common folk are tender with him.

He doesn't respond different either way.

Prince Harry greets them with an unmoving grin but when he stands in front of Louis, it wavers.

*****

Louis' heart pounds a little harder and speeds a little faster as he stares into those royal green eyes, wide and not blinking as they look into bright blue ones. He can't explain it because if he wasn't nervous enough already, fuck, it suddenly got a whole hell of a lot worse. Despite his internal panic that he just _prayed_ wasn't expressed on his face, he holds Harry's hand with an acknowledging squeeze of fingers.

Flashes from cameras increase around them. Whether it's directed to them or somewhere nearby they're unsure, too captivated by each other to care enough to look.

"I'm Louis Tomlinson. Of Doncaster…and One Direction."

Of fucking _course_ he would give his city name as if Prince Harry gave two shits about bloody _Doncaster_.

Prince Harry smiles and it's not the same one he had all night, Louis notes. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tomlinson of Doncaster."

Louis has never fangirled about anything in his life but after observing it first-hand for the past two years, he figures _this_ is what all those fanatic, screaming girls must feel.

"The pleasure's all mine, Your Royal Highness," he hastily replies, their fingers loosening but not releasing.

"All yours, you say." Prince Harry tilts his head, ponders momentarily and Louis swallows hard. "How about 84-point-5 percent?"

Louis creases his eyebrows. "How about a round number?"

"Mmm, denied, love." Prince Harry brings his lips to Louis' ear, breathing the words, "The general public gets half a percent because they thrive on public figures. Smile, love, for the cameras."

Louis is full-out blushing, red and heat everywhere, and just as the Prince makes to move on, he tightens his grip on Prince Harry's hand (no longer sweaty, shockingly) and brings it to his lips. Their eyes lock once more as Louis gazes up through dark lashes in adoration, Prince Harry's cheeks spreading a light pink about over pasty skin.

"I'll smile, love, but not for them."

Zayn's eyebrows shot up, Niall's jaw dropped, and Liam's hand was hiding his face.

Prince Harry licks his lips, Louis lowering their hands, and a security guard pushes on his back forcefully while a secretary mumbles into his ear who he's about to meet next. Their fingers slide away, Prince Harry glancing over his shoulder at Louis for a second before shaking more hands, and Louis looks down at his tingling palm.

What. the _fuck_.

"Duuuude has the hots for the priiiiince," Zayn mocks and ruffles Louis' hair.

Louis' too in shock, watching the prince make his way and not look back while the boys sit down, that he doesn't even care.

*****

"It says he has an on-again, off-again relationship with a classmate from university," Niall reads from his phone. "Alyssa Pefter. From Birmingham–"

"Big city girl," Zayn comments.

Liam scoffs. "You're one to talk–"

"Not a girl!"

"Not able to hear," Louis snaps, leaned across Zayn so he could see Niall's phone, "so shut it."

To pass time as the royals continued their rounds, Niall decided to Wikipedia Prince Harry Styles for quick reference information since Louis couldn't take his eyes off the man for more than two seconds.

"…or Brighton," Niall continues quietly as Albert Hall calms with the seating of the royals. "They met their first year at Lancaster University, where he pursues science and medicine. It's rumored he chose this significantly smaller school of 13,000 after touring KCL, 25,000, and ICL, 24,500. He hopes to advocate for mental health research and behavioral studies. He's halfway through his second year and is currently single."

Zayn lets out a laugh of disbelief. "Lad must be smart as hell. Unis like that aren't small from lack of interest."

Niall hands his phone to Louis as the hall's lights dim and David Walliams flies on the bright stage, audience erupting into claps and shouts. Louis scrolls around the Wikipedia page, aware that he'll be viewed as improper and rude if a picture of him is taken right now but not caring because he _needs_ to know, _needs_ to finish reading.

Even in the front row and a guest performer, no photo is taken and published the next day.

His eyes scan the words – born in Buckingham Palace like his sister, attended the prestigious Gordonstoun, excelled in painting and maths, had few close friends as he was extremely private and shy, dated art student Alyssa at Lancaster, rumored dispute was marriage and post-education life – before Zayn snatches the phone, mumbles that he needs to pay attention now, and gives it back to Niall.

Louis can't pay attention, though, his mind revolving around a teenage-Harry painting in a dirty smock in a fancy, antique reading room of the palace, colors dark and strokes thoughtful.

When their performance slot nears, they're escorted to the back of the stage so they can change and warm-up. They walk on-stage through the audience and as they sing, the hall is as silent as can be, listening so close and attention so captivated. Louis dares a glance to the softly illuminated balcony where the royals sat. He can distinguish Prince Harry but can't make out anything else due to distance and stage lights.

When they finish, the crowd praises them warmly and enthusiastically and it makes them giddy – that they performed well enough for a queen. They bow, radiant and relieved.

They return to their seats and are informed by the escort, "Queen Anne has invited you to the after-show party. It will be a private, sophisticated, more tame affair and you are all more than welcomed and urged to attend with no guests."

The escort walks away and, under their breaths at the same time, Louis and Liam whisper, "Shit."

*****

The boys stand near the banquet hall's entrance, champagne glasses in hand and eyes taking in the unfamiliar scene. There are musicians playing a violin and baby grand piano in the corner and the royal family is seated at the head table, raised up and overlooking the room. Sophisticated and quiet was right.

"Shall we?"

Liam leads off toward an empty table with Niall by his side and Zayn not far behind. Louis keeps his eyes on Prince Harry, who's talking closely with Princess Gemma, then downs his liquid and goes after the boys.

The night’s introduction after introduction, small talk after small talk, courteous laugh after courteous laugh, handshakes and back pats, nods and shrugs, jokes and discussions, champagne after champagne.

The young men aren't new to the scenario itself but _this_ was a much more lavish, more mature level that they'd never been on prior. They had to put their grown-up faces on and interact as such. It wasn't them but they made it be for the night.

When Louis is on his fourth glass and overhears Niall talk about mercury retrograde and planet rotation, he thinks he might explode.

"Pardon me, Mr. Tomlinson."

Louis chokes on the champagne slightly and wipes his mouth hurriedly as he turns to see who almost tried to choke him. Next to him, Liam also turns.

"His Royal Highness Prince Harry Styles requests your presence immediately."

Louis' eyes widen and he looks at Liam, who's smiling stupidly and it pisses Louis off because what the actual _hell_ is happening, seriously, how can he be smiling, howhowhow? He looks at the head table, sees Prince Harry engaged in a conversation with an older woman in front of him but no Queen Anne, and fidgets his fingers on the glass' stem.

What would they talk about? Louis just barely bullshitted through an hour's worth of conversations with strangers by the skin of his teeth. He can't _barely bullshit_ to the (sexy) face of the _Prince_ of the fucking _United Kingdom_. Thinking about it, there was probably a law against such behavior.

"Mr. Tomlinson?"

"Lou." Liam rubs his upper arm encouragingly. "Go."

"He's." Louis faces the escort. "But he's with someone."

"They won't be much longer."

Louis watches Liam give him a nod and downs the rest of his glass. "I accept. On terms that I get another…"

Louis waves his glass and the escort nods. "I will personally see it done, Mr. Tomlinson. Come."

Zayn and Niall, who breaks from his tipsy discussion for a moment, ask Liam what's going on, why's he going up there, what did he do? Liam doesn't answer, just keeps his eyes on Louis as he's gestured to an empty seat next to Prince Harry.

Louis inhales deeply, makes a drinking movement to his lips at the escort, and sits next to the pulled-out chair. His arm almost touches Harry's and he tenses, thinking there was probably a law against that, too.

The older woman excuses herself and Prince Harry is looking at him, _really_ looking like examination, head tilted and no blinks. Louis would normally feel uncomfortable – it's so intimate – and he probably should because of the "prince factor" but he's not.

He isn't sure why but this – Prince Harry examining or scrutinizing or whatever – is ok.

"I appreciate you accepting my inquiry," he says, characteristically low and calm.

“Hey, no, yeah, it’s cool. I mean, I can't be ‘that guy that denied Prince Harry,’ can I?”

*****

Prince Harry smiles softly and turns away, fingers restless as they trace over the rim of his large, empty wine goblet. “I guess that would’ve made you more special than you already are, yeah?”

Louis chuckles, crosses his arms over his chest, and tilts his head. “You’re a little flirt, aren’t ya? You’re quiet but when you _do_ speak, oh boy, do you speak such flattery.”

Prince Harry lifts his shoulders just as the escort comes over with another goblet of wine for him and champagne glass for Louis. He thanks him, Mr. Martin, with a genuine smile and Louis’ heart acts up again. Watching a prince be so humble and grounded wasn’t something he expected but witnessing it with his own eyes, he can’t help but admire him.

Prince Harry sips on his new drink and smacks his lips together at the sweet, refreshing taste before turning toward Louis again, who doesn’t blink and holds his glass firmly. “I asked you here because…because, well, I felt something in the ballroom and I’m almost positive that you did, too.”

Louis gulps and brings the glass to his lips. Shitshit _shit_ , so there actually _was_ a connection between them and he wasn’t just losing his mind. He grew nervous suddenly, would’ve rather lost his mind than deal with this because he wasn’t the one with power. If he met an attractive fan but wanted to deny them, it was easy for him because he was famous and they listened to him. Now, Prince Harry had the upper hand and it made Louis uneasy.

Louis nods as he lowers his almost finished glass. “Yeah. You’re-You’re right on that, yeah.”

Prince Harry’s eyes were wide, innocent, and waiting. If Louis didn’t know any better, he would think that Prince Harry didn’t _want_ the upper hand, which made absolutely zero sense because he was born with it and, hell, he was the one that brought this conversation up.

However, Louis doesn’t have time to think about it too much and instead assumes he’s on the right path, continuing, “But how, if you want to, do we move forward about it? You can’t just…like, go out with…with a regular person.”

Prince Harry bites his bottom lip, eyebrows creased. “Why not?”

“…Pardon?”

“Why can’t I just, like, go out with a regular person?” Prince Harry repeats Louis’ words with a smirk.

Louis easily shifts into the role he knows and is used to. He leans forward, puts his hand on Prince Harry’s knee – because if he’s doing this, it’s going to be done right – and presses his lips to his ear. “In that case, Your Royal Highness, might you be interested in honoring me with your company for dinner on Friday night? I assure you that it will be of the utmost caliber and well worth your time.”

***

When Prince Harry walks into Louis’ flat, he doesn’t expect the two pizza boxes but that doesn’t mean he’s disappointed.

Getting to Louis’ place undetected was a hassle; three decoy SUVs left before him and two more left after. The previous day, the British Royal Marines had to examine the entire premises and background check not only Louis but every occupant of the apartment building. Prince Harry was going to eventually bring up some embarrassing stories from Louis’ fourth year.

None of it shook Louis up, though, and he called Liam and Niall over to help with the preparations including cleaning, laundry, cleaning, and lighting candles.

Louis invites Prince Harry in with a smile and wave, closing the door that has two guards watching after it. He watches the prince’s face closely for any indication of how well he’s doing so far but his expressions remain neutral as he takes in the small living room with peeling paint and poor lighting, outdated and torn pieces of furniture, a small black and white television, and a rickety wooden table with pizza and candles.

None of it screamed boy band rockstar.

“Well?” Louis pressures – he _needs_ to know – and he looks around, too. “What do you think of my humble abode?”

The prince sniffs and Louis snaps his head at the sound, worried he was crying from regret or that he had smelt something awful. However, he’s answered with, “Did they tell you I prefer pepperoni?” and Louis relaxes.

*****

Sitting on the living room’s sofa, they eat from paper plates and drink Sprite from plastic cups (Louis was _not_ going to risk getting himself intoxicated and doing something stupid). The black and white television is on some sports channel quietly and they glance over mid-conversation every so often when they hear a story of interest.

Louis has his legs folded underneath him and is facing the prince, licking sauce from the tips of his fingers as he raises his cup. “So. Arsenal or the Spurs? Don’t say Arsenal…”

Prince Harry smiles softly as he chews on the doughy crust, plate resting on his navy slacks. “Chelsea.”

Louis chokes on his soda and Prince Harry laughs at his pained expression; whether from the team or the drink, he wasn’t sure but it didn’t matter.

Louis stares at him, repeats, “Chelsea.” The prince gives a nod. “Well. I’m so sorry you live in such disappointment.”

“I’m a big fan of Lampard.”

Louis raises his chin as if accepting this reasoning and stands up, grabbing Prince Harry’s plate. “Want some more? Seriously, if we don’t finish, the guys are just gonna completely destroy it.”

The night continues too fast for either of their likings and before they know it, it’s quarter-til-ten and Prince Harry’s been there for almost five hours. Their interaction flows easily as they nibble on cooling pieces of pizza and excuse themselves half-heartedly from small burps as a result of the Sprite.

“…so, I mean, school is wonderful,” Prince Harry explains, “and it’s such a shame that I won’t actually get to do anything from it. It’s pretty pointless, really, but there I am.”

Louis frowns, elbow on the back of the couch and hand propping up his head. “I’m sorry, mate. Can only imagine not being able to do what I love.”

Prince Harry lifts his shoulders, looks down, and bends his empty cup between his fingers. At first, he was worried about being too honest; what if Louis sold him out, or there were some hidden recorders neither knew about, or Louis accidentally let something slip to the media? Then, he remembered that Louis was mildly on the same boat when it came to public attention and decided he’d be honest with the singer.

If he was honest, Louis could see him for who he truly was and make their developing relationship genuine.

Louis presses his fingertips, stained from pizza sauce, under Prince Harry’s chin to lift it up, smiling when their eyes meet. “I’m happy you told me.”

The prince inhales slowly and asks, “Keep a secret?”

Louis nods.

“The only reason we go to uni…is to find educated, acceptable romantic partners.” His eyes dart to the side when Louis doesn’t let his chin go. “It’s like the 1930’s for women except for every generation forever. I’m there to find a wife that will become princess and future queen.”

*****

Louis won’t deny it, his heart cracks and he pulls his hand back. Whatever, _this_ dinner was casual and he had no aiming intentions, but from their previous exchanges, he assumed that something more could’ve come from it. They discussed it – they acknowledged that there was a special something when they first shook hands – and unfortunately, Louis was a tiny bit discouraged.

Louis drops his hand from his head and picks at the back of the sofa. “At least you’re ordered to chase tail around all day, yeah?” he tries to say with humor but it doesn’t convey properly.

Prince Harry lowers his head to hide his face, murmuring before he can change his mind, “I don’t want those ladies. I don’t want…any lady.”

Louis’ eyes dart from his oh-so-fascinating piece of thread to the prince, ears listening closely.

“We had…have something.” He laughs softly to himself. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I met the Prime Minister of Japan on Wednesday and all I could replay in my head was your lips on my hand.”

Louis recalls seeing videos and photos of this meeting on the news and daily paper headlines. In those clips that were seen around the world, no one knew that Louis was also in them via Prince Harry’s mind. To say he was flattered wasn’t even close to how extremely giddy he felt.

“What’s that mean, Louis? I’m meeting world leaders yet thinking about a brief single encounter that happened almost a week ago with a famous singer.” Prince Harry looks up at him, bright green eyes shining through light eyelashes. “What’s that mean?”

Louis scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip and places his hand once more on Prince Harry – this time on his cheek – before whispering, “It means that we’ve both been thinking about the exact same moment since the–”

A loud knock is at the front door and Louis jumps as it breaks the soft atmosphere and his quiet admission.

Prince Harry takes Louis’ hand between his long fingers and rests them in the small space between their legs. “I need to leave.”

Louis wants to argue. If it was anyone but the Prince of the United Kingdom, he’d ask questions and cling and protest and kick and scream. Prince Harry’s tone was absolute and there was no way Louis’ going to risk anything that could ruin what they were beginning to build.

So, he gives a nod and they stand up, making their way to the front door with hands still held.

“Thank you, Louis, for tonight. It was…one of the best meals and company that I’ve had in so very long.”

Louis grins, rubbing his thumb over Prince Harry’s hand and bowing his head. “Anything for you, Your Royal Highness–”

“Stop.” Eyebrows creased, Louis looks up. “Harry.”

Louis tries to contain his smile by biting his lip but it does no good and _Harry_ laughs at his attempt, squeezing his hand. “Anything for you, then…Harry.”

*****

Their next arranged meeting is a week later.

They take a private helicopter in the morning to the Isle of Wight and the Royal Yacht Squadron to go boating on Harry’s personal yacht for the day. When they arrive, the enormous vessel is loaded and waiting for them and Harry gives a quick tour of the large boat (“Here’s the bathroom…linen closet…library and sitting room…media room…guest bedroom…kitchen…master bedroom–” “I’ll definitely remember where this is.”)

Louis takes Harry’s hand once they’re in the privacy of the captain’s cabin. Harry smiles at him, starts the boat expertly, and steers them off into through the Solent toward the Channel.

“You take me to one of the most exclusive yacht clubs on the planet and don’t even show me Cowes Castle,” Louis playfully criticizes, hair tousled from the open side windows.

Harry slowly licks his lips. “I kind of prefer to avoid going in there unless absolutely necessary.” Louis waits for elaborated continuation. “Everyone is so…pompous and hollow, made worse by their efforts to not appear that way. It makes me unsettled and a little sick that those commoners are who I’ll end up socializing with for the second half of my life.”

“Commoners,” Louis backtracks as Harry slows the speed of the yacht and they’re in the middle of expansive blue.

Harry’s body noticeably stiffens, worried. “I meant no offense by that term, Louis–”

Louis shakes his head. “No, no, it’s…strange to me that such rich and prominent people that belong to a club like that are still labeled as, say, someone like me.”

Harry doesn’t respond right away. He plays it off as if he’s concentrating on anchoring the vessel but he’s really trying to form a fast yet intricate explanation without coming off as narrow as the people he just spoke about.

Once settled, Harry turns to Louis, says, “Someone like you is more than a mere commoner to someone like me,” and leads the way out to the deck.

Despite the open air and sea, the whole scene feels exceedingly private with no other people on the yacht and the nearest boat a speck in the distance. They both know better, though, and keep a small guard up for paparazzi and passerby eyes as they remove their shirts and lie in the sun on cushioned long chairs.

Large sunglasses covering his eyes, Louis breaks the silence, “Tell me about Alyssa.”

Harry creases his eyebrows, though they’re hidden behind aviators, and rolls his head to look at Louis. “Aly? Why?”

Louis shrugs and wiggles in the chair. “Read something…about her and you.”

Sighing quietly, Harry directs his face back toward the sun and bends his knees. “Gemma knows her older brother. It was an easy setup. She’s nice and all, innocent, sweet young face, gorgeous eyes, brilliant brain…picture perfect of what mum expects for me.”

Louis looks over, head slightly dizzy and heart once again swelling. “The problem?”

“We went over this, love,” Harry chuckles as he reaches out and takes Louis’ hand. “I have time. I can avoid marriage for a few years yet.”

The word ‘opportunity’ flashes before Louis’ shaded eyes and before he can change his mind, he softly blurts, “I like you. Not your title, not your celebrity, not your yacht– Well, no, I adore your yacht actually, I lied.”

Harry laughs loudly and Louis’ heart now swells for a different reason.

“And most certainly not your guards. I…I like you.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand. “I like you, too. And 'What Makes You Beautiful.' And your money.”

“Bloody twat.”

*****

A date to the opera and lunch at a world-class restaurant later, they’re labeled “Britain’s Bromance” by world media outlets with accompanying photos of Louis holding Harry by the waist protectively as they push through crowds, their affectionate smiles over French cuisine and wine tasting, Louis pressing fast kisses to the top of Harry’s head as he glares at anyone that seems relatively threatening (which is everyone), and Harry gazing warmly with affectionate eyes as Louis leads them around.

No one utters ‘gay’ at them because it’s Prince Harry Styles and such a term applied to him is scientifically impossible. Louis, however, with his guarding and not-so-sly touches gets a few utters of homosexuality. Neither worry nor care, though, because they’re happy with this relationship – part friendly, part romantic – and will keep it going as long as they can.

Which is until Louis is set to go on tour.

Louis’ apartment complex had been discovered and paparazzi literally _camp_ across the street to wait for him to emerge every single day. Harry needs to show up from the back street, through the narrow alley and up a side door, to even get inside; otherwise, the rush of photographers dash across the busy street to get to him and none of it is safe for anyone.

Two suitcases open in front of him, Harry sits on Louis’ bed as the singer strolls from room to room, phone to his ear.

“I fucking packed the toothpaste, Liam. I’m not brushing my teeth tonight or tomorrow morning because of it, you wanker…I don’t have travel size _anything_ except aspirin! We went over this!”

Harry knows it’s rude to find humor when Louis is so obviously stressed and panicky but he can’t help the chuckle he lets out.

Louis freezes in his doorway and turns to Harry, eyebrow raised. “And on top of it, I have a bloody prince on my bed that thinks this is some private comedy show.”

Harry clears his throat, then nods. “I do.”

Louis sighs dramatically, tells Liam he’ll call before he goes to bed, and hangs up. Tossing the phone on the foot of the bed, he lies beside Harry and curls around him. He’s exhausted from all the scrambling and he should know better than to wait last minute…but he waited last minute anyway, too busy cramming time with Harry between his own schedule.

Harry runs his fingers soothingly through Louis’ hair and kisses his forehead. “I can make us some espresso.”

Louis grins, presses his face to Harry’s chest. “I still can’t believe you brought that machine over here.”

“Better than that cheap crap you buy.”

Louis rubs his hand over Harry’s soft stomach. “You need to visit me sometime. Like, arrange a meeting with the president of Australia for–”

“Prime Minister.”

“–and we can see kangaroos. Or the president of Spain–”

“King.”

“–or king of France–”

“President.”

Louis creases his eyebrows at Harry. “Dictator of China.”

“General secretary.”

“Bora Bora.”

Harry blinks. “That’s not a country.”

“Walla Walla.”

“Not a country.”

“Timbuktu.”

“Not a country.”

Louis slowly licks his lips. “You are highly underestimated, Your Royal Highness.”

Harry groans. “I told you not to call me that.”

“But will you?” Louis asks seriously and sits up to move his face over Harry’s. “Visit me sometime in the next few months? Please?”

Harry stares at Louis, straying for a moment to his lips, and shivers. “Of course I will. We can see a Real Madrid game–”

“Don’t even get me started right now,” Louis grumbles and Harry smirks. “I mean it, Harry. I…” He inhales deeply before confessing, “I don’t know if I can bear…without…seeing or touching or hearing you.”

Harry’s head goes light and his eyes shift out of focus momentarily. They haven’t talked in depth about their relationship but had a mutual understanding of what it was and what they expected from one another. One thing was that they never kissed aside from pecks to the neck and lingering touches to the cheek or forehead. It was as though that section of their romantic part was restricted but neither knew why.

And Harry didn’t want it to be restricted anymore, not with Louis about to leave him.

His shaky fingertips rest on Louis’ warm cheek and he didn’t have to do anything more to indicate what he wants because Louis took control then, their noses brushing and lips lining up.

The guards, overhearing the distinctive noises from the front door, report to the palace that His Royal Highness would not return tonight.

*****

Louis is in Montreal when he sees “the photo.”

Two months have gone by and Louis is as enthralled by Harry as ever, texting him before and after interviews (sometimes even during) and calling him whenever the time zone allows. Harry responds just as enthusiastically and Louis thinks, hey, this could work, because one thing he had been worried about was what would happen when he left on tour.

His worries diminished after a month but reappeared a month later with the emergence of “the photo.”

Harry and Alyssa. Kissing. After a performance of the exact same opera he saw.

Zayn takes him to a club that night and they bring back a large group of girls to their bus, all drunk and tumbling over one another. There’s one blond girl that Captain Morgan decides Louis fancied and they fuck in his bunk until they reach Ottawa.

***

Harry finally gets Louis to answer his phone 13 days later and he’s crying, slurring soberly and hysterically and fast and Louis is drunk to begin with, making it that much harder to understand.

“Fuck, Louis, I didn’t mean to–”

“How d’you not mean to take som’ne on a date an’ kiss ‘em?” Louis forces out, head spinning as he closes his eyes.

“Mum, she…she had this talk with me and said I needed to get back on track…arranged a meeting with Aly at–”

“D’you even wan’ me anymore?” Louis interrupts because, honestly, that’s the only thing he cares about. He doesn’t need to hear about stupid Aly or his stupid queen of a mother.

“Yes,” Harry desperately answers without hesitation. “Yes, Louis, I do. Do you know how difficult being here without you is? Do you know how much I crave your flat? Do you know how much I think about your bloody smile and eyes?”

Louis sniffs, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. “Yeah. I do.”

“Christ, love, apologies won’t ever be enough to express how awful I feel and how torn up–”

“Come here.”

Harry glances at the clock mounted on his bedroom wall. “Where are you?”

***

Louis is in Kansas City, a place neither have ever heard of.

Royal security safely hands him over to One Direction’s management, who pick him up at the airport in a bulletproof limo and escort him to the hotel.

The emptiness of the passing fields and plains comfort Harry’s chaotic mind somewhat that when the limo door opens, he wonders how they got to the hotel so fast. He can only stay the night because “princes don’t sleep on moving vehicles,” so he plans on making the absolute most of it.

An elevator ride and two door knocks later, Louis is pulling him inside the hotel room and kissing him heatedly, arms too tight around his slim frame but neither care. Harry holds him just as tight around the neck, their tongues sliding messily but rough, as Louis pushes him against the wall, fingers pressing hard and hips colliding.

“Fuck,” Harry gasps, fingers in Louis’ hair and tears dripping down his face. “I’m so sorry. God fuck, love, I am so, so sorry.”

Louis silences him, not replying, by kissing him again. He’s had enough apologies, tired of hearing them and getting sympathy. It’s only a few minutes later that he simply whispers, “I know,” and Harry starts to feel better.

They lie naked under the blankets, lights off and room glowing in four candles, and stay up all night. Hands wander, sweat sticks, moans escape, kisses last, words mumble, and they both know that this is it – that their relationship is officially set.

The sun rises and they move to the shower. Both cry and dread as they wash each other slowly and try to contain themselves because neither knew their time was going to end this painfully.

Behind the hotel door, they kiss hungrily and Louis holds Harry to his chest in hopes that they’ll mold together. Harry reaches behind him for the doorknob just as two loud knocks come – Louis doesn’t jump – and he whispers, “I’ll be waiting. I promise.”

Louis lets him go, returning to bed and crying himself to sleep.

When he wakes in the afternoon, a voicemail from the morning is flashing on his phone. Harry says, “I love you. Replay this message if you ever feel in doubt. When you come back, I’ll give you absolutely no reason to.”

And so, the famous singer fell in love with a prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on LJ.
> 
>  
> 
> <http://1dkinkmeme.livejournal.com/8532.html?thread=9852244#t9852244>


	2. Royal Love, pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this AU has Doncaster Rovers in the Premier League]

Harry arrives at their vacation home in the Scottish Highlands, which is where Queen Anne is for the week. As he enters, she looks up from the dining room table that has a large variety of breakfast assortments that will mostly get tossed in the garbage. He kisses her on the cheek before sitting in the empty chair next to her and noticing the daily gossip section of the newspaper.

“You had quite the 24 hours, haven’t you?”

Her voice is low and sends shivers across Harry’s skin as her displeased eyes stare at him.

He reaches for her glass of water and takes a sip, staring back. “I…I had to–”

“You didn’t _have_ to do anything, Harold.” Her hand hits the table at the accented word but he doesn’t flinch, her finger pressing hard against the paper. “What is this boy’s business with you?”

“It’s _our_ business, mum,” Harry quickly yet quietly answers, not shifting his eyes from his mother’s.

“I’m very unhappy about this.” Her voice is now a warning sign, finger tapping with each point she makes. “I’m unhappy that you ran off in the middle of the night to America and stayed at some unprotected hotel for less than 12 hours before running back here. I’m extremely disappointed because I taught you better.”

He has to look away now, lowering his head in guilt and reasoning. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, honestly, what was the reason behind this?” she asks, picking up the paper and scanning it over as if it would magically give her answers.

But he couldn’t be honest. He couldn’t just simply say “I hurt him, I had to make it better, I love him” because that was unacceptable. A male heir in their bloodline refusing a wife but desiring a man? The thought wasn’t plausible. He couldn’t do this now, not here and not with her so charged by negative emotions.

His answer is, “A friend needed me.”

***

Louis touches his computer screen that’s filled with Harry’s smiling face as they video chat. “Next week, baby. Exactly seven days.”

“I can’t wait. Seriously, Lou, I…” Harry runs a hand through his messy curls and Louis frowns at how tired and uneasy he is; he was in the middle of finals at university and Louis wasn’t there to assure him that he’s doing great. “I need to somehow visit more the next tour because this is quite unbearable.”

“I know,” Louis admits quietly, eyes scanning Harry’s face rapidly. “We’ll figure something out when the time is closer. I promise.”

Liam fits himself inside Louis’ bunk, waves at Harry, and they fall into a conversation about the psychology of homesickness that ends an hour later with Louis yawning and Harry concluding, “I love you. Sleep well.”

***

“The fuckin’ prince is gonna be here, man!” Niall squeals as he bounces up and down in front of Louis, who’s sitting on the couch of their dressing room.

Niall seems to be the only one grasped onto the reality that Harry is a _prince_ rather than Louis’ _boyfriend_.

Louis groans, phone pressed to his ear, and Liam rolls his eyes beside him. “See what you’re doing here, Harry? You’re making ’im lose any brain cells he has left.”

When One Direction arrived back in London for the final show of the tour, Louis had been ecstatic on seeing Harry again and spending their time as official boyfriends now. However, Harry had commitments to fulfill all day and couldn’t see him until show time. Louis wouldn’t deny that he was disappointed Harry wasn’t at the airport to meet him but it was out of their control.

Surprisingly, Harry had called him during his commute from a lunch meeting to a charity fundraiser.

“Rude!” Niall screams, snatching the phone easily from Louis’ fingers. “Prince Harry, please disregard all negative slander that is conveyed from my deeply misguided bandmate, as I would be profoundly disappointed and embarrassed if Your Royal Highness–”

“You drunk dialed me eight times your entire tour.” Niall noticeably frowns and Louis, unable to hear the conversation, raises his eyebrows. “Judgment has already been made, my friend.”

Niall smacks his lips together. “You know, you and Lou could have some kinky-ass roleplay shit with your royalty talk–”

Zayn walks in with a bag of Doritos and freezes in the doorway. “Niall is not discussing the Prince of England’s sex life with the Prince of England right now.”

Louis holds his hand out. “Give me the phone, he has to go pretty soon.”

“Give him the phone, I have to go pretty soon,” Harry repeats and Niall hands it back with a dissatisfied huff. “Hey, so…I have a bit of news before we hang up…”

***

Harry and Aly are escorted inside the packed theater and to the special access balcony, holding hands but keeping bodies distant. Word gets around fast that the prince is in attendance and the entire crowd turns and cheers when he peers over the side, smiling bright and waving.

Ten minutes later, the band takes the stage. Aly sings along to every song and Harry grows anxious and dizzy as he stares, mesmerized, at Louis. They are so close yet so far and as much as he knows Louis loves performing, he wants nothing more than for this show to end and for them to reunite.

“We would like to give a special shout-out to a special guest that’s here for our special night,” Zayn says and a stage light shifts onto Harry, the crowd once more turning and cheering. “Prince Harry, what’s up man? Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you,” Liam reiterates.

Harry gives a thumbs-up and Louis’ face noticeably softens; he hadn’t been able to see Harry from the stage – just like the first time he performed in front of him – but now that he could, his heart pounded and he couldn’t have been any more happy, regardless of the tall, slim woman by his side. He knew where Harry was the whole time but being able to finally see him there and after so long, his skin buzzed more under the sweat and his head reeled more in his stage high.

Liam puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder to snap his daze and refocus while Niall remarks, “I drunk call the prince quite often.”

The crowd screams, loving it, and the sad part is that they all probably think he’s joking.

Louis says nothing and many of the fangirls acknowledge this. They were “Britain’s Bromance” and two of the hottest best friend bachelors in the world, comparable to George Clooney and Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, and Robert Pattinson and Sam Bradley, why wouldn’t Louis say anything? Was it because of Aly being there, not as Louis’ romantic competition but bromance competition?

The final wrap party follows and Aly doesn’t attend because she has to be home at a respectable time; if she wants to keep her hopes of becoming the future princess, she can’t party until the wee hours of the morning.

When Harry finds him, Louis sitting by himself off to the side with a full drink resting on his knee and eyes frenetically roaming faces – until he finds the one he’s been searching for. An uncontrollable grin breaks across Harry’s face as he takes large steps over to Louis, who puts his drink down carelessly and stands with arms open. They embrace, Louis fisting the back of Harry’s shirt and Harry fisting the back of Louis’ hair, and Louis whimpers because he fucking refuses to cry about this.

“Oh, love, shh.” Harry kisses the top of Louis’ ear, murmurs, “All’s well now.”

Louis nods his agreement and kisses Harry’s neck six times because it’s the only thing he can do, not able to kiss those lips even once with the risk of camera phones and witnesses with lingering, shady eyes.

They don’t last at the party long after that and retreat a half hour later to Louis’ apartment. When they enter, there’s an open box of fresh pizza on the dining table (“I know people, too, ya know,” he merely explains) and three unopened suitcases laying in the living room.

“You left with two,” Harry comments as he curves around Louis’ body on the couch, pizza slice in his hands.

“I bought a lot of shit.”

They don’t get to sleep until 6:34AM.

The next morning, headlines read “One Direction Date for Prince” and Louis gets around to them in late afternoon, frowning at the newspaper with _her_ face that’s laying across the closed, empty pizza box.

Harry walks out of the bedroom naked to sit on Louis’ lap and scans over the pages. “They weren’t wrong, were they?” he whispers against Louis’ cheek, fingers dragging across his bare shoulders.

Louis secures an arm around Harry’s waist, pulls him to his chest, and hums bleakly as his eyes read the words and his mind processes the reality of what the article is saying. Again, he wasn’t jealous but was admittedly a bit down at the fact the whole world is being informed that Harry belongs to someone else. The pride he has for his boyfriend is hidden while everyone is exposed to one large misleading lie.

Harry gently turns Louis’ eyesight away from the paper, long fingers on his jaw, and as their eyes meet, he smiles softly and rubs his thumb soothingly over Louis’ chin. “The show was fantastic. You guys sounded so, so good and had so much energy for such an enormous, packed space. I, for one, am impressed at how you could possibly do that night after night.”

Running a hand up Harry’s smooth back, Louis sticks his tongue out to press against Harry’s thumb, pausing it for him to kiss gently and it stays on his lips as he whispers, “Thank you. Your texts and support helped on the road– helped during the shows.” Then, his tone shifts. “I want nothing more than to make you happy, Harry. Nothing else matters to me. Nothing.”

“You make me happy, Louis, but more importantly,” Harry moves his thumb and kisses the corner of Louis’ mouth, “you love me. That love is 90-percent of my happiness.”

Gossip column and implications forgotten, Louis smirks and his other arm goes around Harry. “And the other 10?”

“Your money and fame and important contacts and pizza delivery,” Harry replies on the spot, so instant that Louis raises an eyebrow at him. “What? It’s only 10-percent.”

Louis picks Harry up, legs wrapped around his waist, and carries them back to his room, collapsing on top of the messy blankets, disorganized pillows, and bedspread dirty with sweat and come. _Suited for royalty, fit for a prince_ , Louis thinks.

***

On a snowy morning three days later, the two go shopping for Christmas gifts at Harrods, which has closed their entire store off from the public to grant them privacy and convenience.

Harry is smelling different fragrances while Louis is still in awe that he’s there, having never stepped into Harrods before but knowing how luxurious and expensive it was. Leaning against the glass counter and head unable to stop moving, he has to be poked by Harry to quit scanning everything and anything.

“Your birthday is coming up,” Harry repeats for the third time with a sigh and shake of his head as he waves in rejection at the current perfume.

Louis blinks and nods. He was interrupted from his observations for this?

Harry sighs again. “And? What do you want?”

Louis starts to sing, “All I want for Christmas is yo–”

“I said birthday, not Christmas.” Harry elbows him gently. “I’m being serious.”

“I am, too,” Louis says with a straight face as the saleswoman places another bottle on the display case before rushing away. He slides a hand under Harry’s thick scarf until he feels hot skin and takes a step closer. “I want a relaxing night with maybe a nice dinner out and two cupcakes.”

Harry takes hold of Louis’ mitten-covered hand. “You’ll get all that. What I’m asking is, what do you want from me as a purchase that will help make your birthday special? What do you want that you’ve wanted for a while that I can buy for you?”

Louis starts to sing, again, “Can’t buy me loooo-ooo–”

“Christ, you’re difficult,” Harry huffs but is still endeared, kissing Louis’ rosy cheek. “At this rate, you aren’t getting anything.”

Louis gasps and gently shoves Harry away. “How rude.” He nods at the perfume bottle. “Resume smelling your liquids, Your Royal Highness.”

“That sounded perverted and stop calling me that.”

***

Louis spends the holidays in Doncaster with his family and Harry spends Christmas between homeless shelters and the palace. Louis comes back to London on the 30th and meets with Harry at an esteemed, critically-acclaimed French ristorante. They sample cheeses and spreads on bread and share a bottle of wine that probably costs more than Louis’ entire Armani outfit, but it’s exhilarating and enjoyable and everything he wanted for a birthday dinner.

After they finish sampling and wait for their plates, Harry takes out a long, thin box from his jacket’s inner pocket and Louis gasps around the rim of his wine glass, hand wiping at his mouth before extending to take it.

“As I stated at Harrods, you’re difficult.” Louis fingers the edges anxiously and Harry puts his elbows on the table, folded hands under his chin. “I hope I managed, but…well, we’ll see. Happy birthday.”

Louis opens the box and sees the Garrard name and logo on the inside cover before his jaw drops. A silver chain is going through a ring that has two raised bands going around with a diamond flat across to connect the two. His hands shake as he stares at it, blinking fast and afraid it’ll be gone by the time he finishes.

“The two bands represent us, though I figure you already knew that.” Louis nods, doesn’t look up. “The diamond brings us together and the band is our love, supporting us and making us one.”

“Good God, Harry,” Louis whispers, fingertips so lightly skimming over the piece. “How…I…”

Harry bites his lip and Louis finally looks up with stunned eyes.

“Can I accept this? It must’ve cost you a fortune for both the necklace and the ring and.” Louis stops short, Harry’s heart pounding harder, and looks back at the box in his hands. “I can’t ever give you something like this, even with the money I get from album and ticket sales, appearances, merchandise, endorsements; this elegant and beautiful and luxurious.”

Nervous he may have overdone it or gone too steep, Harry says fast with his palms outward, “I don’t want you to. I’m not asking you to and I won’t. I did this for you because I love you and feel you deserve to have something physical to epitomize that. Hey.”

Louis sees that Harry has one hand on the center of the table and tangles their fingers together.

“I love you. It’s your birthday and I wanted to get you something nice.” Harry presses his lips to the back of Louis’ trembling hand. “Please accept it. Please.”

Louis takes a deep breath, squeezes Harry’s palm.

“If it makes you feel any better, your Christmas present is a little less lavish.” Louis groans because of course there’s a Christmas present, too, in addition to this. “I said a little!”

Louis laughs quietly, pulls his hand back, carefully takes the laying chain out, and fits it over his head, holding the ring and fitting it just over his ring finger’s nail.

Satisfied, Harry grins and drinks some wine. “And when we eventually come out, you won’t need the chain anymore and can wear the ring on its own. That was my plan anyway.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Louis quietly says, no longer shaking as his fingertips rub the ring. “This means the world to me, really. I’ve never been given something so meaningful.”

“I told you, you deserve it. Being with a prince isn’t easy and I put you through a lot– I always will, and you’ve stuck around.” Harry lifts his shoulders shyly. “So, actually, thank you, too.”

That night, they stay at 41 Hotel. Louis gives Harry his present of season-long tickets to home and away Chelsea games and specialty imported espresso. Harry gives Louis travel-size toothpaste and a brochure on Angel Falls, Venezuela, informing him that they’re going on a small getaway during a political outing.

The next night, New Year’s Eve, One Direction turn down many last-minute invitations to do club appearances, television spots, and group performances in favor of staying home with loved ones. Louis and Harry lie on the roof of Buckingham Palace and watch the fireworks surround Big Ben.

***

In Caracas and on his spring break, Harry does his rounds of photo ops, translator-assisted conversations, and courtesy meals over the span of four days. He has a permanent smile on his face as British photographers follow him around the city from location to location, bright flashes in his face and bodies surrounding him as he somehow makes his way safely into his escort van. He relaxes once the door is locked, slouching and head back, and is told about his upcoming meeting.

Louis passes time by walking around in fitted tees, ring necklace tucked underneath, and behind large sunglasses, taking pictures at anything that catches his eye for more than two seconds and texting Harry anything that stays on his mind long enough. Fans stop him for autographs and photos and he obliges each time, saying “Gracias” and patting their backs before making his way. He tries different foods at small shops and carts and always makes sure to bring back samples for Harry.

The nights are always the same, though, both of them meeting up at the hotel bar and lying in their room as they discuss their day. Louis doesn’t understand half of what Harry says and Harry admires Louis’ photography while nibbling on pabellón criollo and arepa.

After the prince-duties are complete, they take a private helicopter to the Guiana Highlands and spend most of their time on the large balcony of their room, looking out over the plains and to Angel Falls in the distance. They start in separate chairs but end up moving onto someone’s lap within five minutes, kissing either slow and short or fast and taking shirts off.

Sometimes in the mornings, they’ll last longer as Harry reads course books and Louis scribbles out lyrics and thoughts, which Harry leans over occasionally for to see what he’s writing. But by lunch, Harry is sick of reading and slams his book closed while Louis is more than likely napping, sunglasses sliding down his nose and notebook slipping off his lap. Harry sips on the last drops of his espresso and goes inside for a refill while also ordering up lunch. Louis will either come up behind him and walk him to the bed, or wake up when Harry sits on him and licks his cheek.

On their last night, Louis nuzzles Harry’s neck and squeezes him shortly. “This is how I want to see the world; with you. The guys are great and all but it’s different when you’re here. It’s like seeing a whole new side of things and…I like it a lot.”

On Louis’ lap, Harry kisses the top of his head and ruffles his hair, staring out over the balcony. “We’ll do it more often, then. Sporadically, though, because I know how much you love home…and I love your home, too.”

Louis chuckles and lowers Harry’s head to kiss him. “You have a palace and prefer my shitty flat.”

“You try pooping in a toilet made of gold, yeah?”

***

It’s a weekend and they’re at a Chelsea-Doncaster game, seated in an executive box and wearing opposing jerseys, when the call comes.

They playfully jab at each other and roughhouse a little, all the while forgetting about Harry’s security team being present and watching their (more Louis’) every move. On his feet, Harry throws his arms in the air when Chelsea scores ten minutes in while Louis hides his face in his hands, groaning and ignoring Harry rubbing at his back.

Harry cuts his celebration short when he’s tapped on the shoulder and shoved a cell phone. Holding it to his ear, Queen Anne immediately starts rambling about how a gossip magazine is going to publish photos of him and Louis from Venezuela that could put them all in a compromising position and how could he be so stupid again because of that fucking boy.

Louis stands up when he realizes Harry is no longer dancing in his face, hand sliding down Harry’s back but causing him to leave the room in a haste with a guard following. Louis watches after him as the door shuts and creases his eyebrows, looking at all the security for any indication of what was going on and receiving nothing in return but stoic faces. He debates on whether to go after Harry and comes to the realization that there _is_ no debate, sprinting after the prince with a guard of his own on his tail.

Harry’s at the end of the hall and sitting on the floor, pulling at his hair and curled in a ball with the phone pressed to his ear as he listens to his mother yell and curse. Louis sits beside him and is mildly surprised when he falls over. He wraps his arms around the prince’s small body as he begins to quietly cry, though not saying a word.

“I’m here, love, it’s alright,” Louis whispers and combs Harry’s knotted hair.

Harry gives him a single nod of acknowledgement and sniffs, which is a mistake because Queen Anne hears and goes off about how he shouldn’t be crying, he brought this upon himself.

King Robin is about to take the phone away from her and she reminds Harry coldly, “Don’t forget that I am the Queen of the United Kingdom before a mother to you, Harold. Don’t you dare forget that.”

“Harry, honey, come home.” King Robin’s voice is commanding but soft compared to the queen’s. “We need to talk about this and…don’t bring Louis with.”

Harry releases the phone from his grip and it drops to the floor between their bodies, breathing irregular and uncertain mind rushing for some kind of clarity. They had been so careful in South America, how could there be pictures? Fuck, they flirted in Harrods and exchanged gifts at the bistro– if they were to be caught, he thought for certain it would’ve been there, not the middle of nowhere Venezuela.

Pink and wet cheeks, lips, and eyes, he looks up at Louis and swallows hard, palm pressing against the Doncaster jersey where the outline of the ring is. “I’m in trouble…fuck-in-a, Louis, _we’re_ in deep shit.”

***

Louis refuses to let Harry go home alone and waits in the palace’s library while Harry meets with his parents. When he returns, Harry is much more pale and his widened eyes show such genuine fear that Louis’ never seen.

“They’re…They’re bad, Lou,” Harry explains slowly as Louis takes his hands. “It’s us on the balcony and there’s videos, too, where you can…can hear…and-and it’s all of it, Lou, naked and kissing and on our laps and _fucking everything_ –!”

“Alright, try to calm down–”

“Are you out of your mind, Louis?!” Harry screams and Louis jumps for the first time in months. “This newspaper is about to fucking tell the whole world about our relationship and you want me to calm down! I can’t calm down because I’m the bloody prince and in line to rule this kingdom!”

Louis lets Harry’s hands go, takes a small step back as he feels his heart crack a little more with each word that’s said. “That shouldn’t make a difference of whether–”

“It’s all the difference!” Harry snaps as he starts to pace back and forth. “Alright, fine, truth time, yeah? Want some honesty about this royal fucking family?!”

Louis isn’t sure if he does – probably not – but has no choice as Harry continues.

“Here’s some honesty: The head of sovereign must always put their kingdom before their family. My royal blood comes before my heart. How about that, huh?! No matter how much I would bloody give up England and Canada and Australia and my entire life for you, I _can’t_.”

Louis’ throat tightens and bottom lip quivers as he watches Harry walk from one side of the room to the other. He isn’t sure what to say because he’s fairly certain saying anything at all will get him screamed at like Queen Anne did to Harry; they had that trait in common. Harry glances at him from time to time before looking away and shaking his head. Louis knows he should leave but he just can’t bring himself to, not when the love of his life is so distressed and anguished. Harry probably wants him gone right now but he can’t.

Harry turns his back to Louis and faces a shelf of books, arms crossed over his stomach. “We’re in contact with your management as we speak and developing a course of action. We’ll most likely be advised to keep our distance and…damn it, I’ll have to be seen with Aly and listen to her about her stupid rabbit… The magazine is going ballistic, creating a special edition with web content and a small exclusive television segment to send to news stations. It will break early next week.”

In the face of looming exposure, the only thing Louis truly cares about is, “Will we still be together?”

Harry spins around, angered face suddenly gone as he takes in Louis’ frightened petite frame standing in the middle of the large library, all alone and shaken up. Louis’ never seen him in such a way before and this insight smacks Harry in the heart. Louis wasn’t around when he did his work so he had no idea how wound up Harry could get.

Harry slaps a hand to his forehead and rushes toward Louis, who tenses up as Harry hugs him and goddamn, Louis is _scared_ of him. He kisses Louis over and over and mumbles, “Fuck, I am so, so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to go off on you like that– I get in a mindset when dealing with mum and politics and work and I set off without… I love you, Louis, so much, I love you and I’m so, so sorry–”

“Will we still be together?” Louis asks again, face in Harry’s Chelsea jersey as he pulls on the bottom.

Harry puts his hands on Louis’ cheeks, lifts his face and looks in his eyes, and says, “Forever.”

***

Louis leaves the study and walks down the long hall slowly, admiring every large portrait for a couple seconds before moving on.

About halfway down, Queen Anne appears at the other end and Louis freezes at her presence, intimidated and fucking terrified. She’s looking right at him and he has nothing to do but look back – from both respect and not being able to look away – as they approach each other.

As is the common courtesy for a commoner such as Louis, he bows with a hand to his chest and says, “Your Majesty.”

She lifts her chin and looks down at him, her small stature a tough match for his muscular one. “Mr. Tomlinson.”

He stands upright and they stare for a few moments, unsure of who should talk first or if either should talk at all, and suddenly–

“Look, Your Majesty…” Louis inhales, knows this is it, and tries to compose his scrambling brain because he’s freaking the fuck out and he _needs_ to do this right. “I…I adore your son. He’s the greatest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of having in my life and I feel safe to say that he feels the same about me.”

Louis inhales. Queen Anne arches an eyebrow.

“When we first touched at the Variety Performance, we both knew something undeniable was there and we both reacted on it. Our relationship as friends began slow but it would only last so long because…there was this attraction and…and pull. Our relationship was pulled into a more romantic one.”

Louis inhales. Queen Anne narrows her eyes just slightly.

“I feel I’ve impacted him positively as he’s impacted me the same. You-You may have noticed that…Harry’s been a bit more open out in the public; during interviews, when meeting c-commoners, handling paps... I feel I’ve helped contribute to that confidence. And with me,” a huge smile breaks across Louis’ face despite Queen Anne’s firm expression, “he’s a solid comfort in my spinning life of chaos and scuttling.”

Louis inhales. Queen Anne lowers her eyebrow.

“He. I-I know that, to you, acting as a queen is more important than acting as a mother. I won’t say that I understand, but I _can_ say that I respect it. You have not only a family to love and care for but an entire kingdom as well. It shows your loyalty to your countries and, thus, me.”

Louis inhales. Queen Anne straights up her back.

“As a…homosexual commoner in your kingdom, I feel denying our relationship is denying not only Harry but your people that are homosexual and those that accept it. I…have the knowledge that your monarch has been strict on expectations but…times are changing and they will continue to change. Way back when, gays weren’t supported; now, we are. The rule of the monarch needs to change with time and you have the power to do that– and even if _you_ don’t, someone else eventually will because it’s inevitable.”

Queen Anne quietly hisses, “Don’t you _dare_ think you know the first thing about my throne, my monarch, my kingdom, or my family.”

“I don’t think that, Your Majesty. But what I _do_ think I know the first thing about is your son’s heart. I know that he loves me, I know that he knows I love him, I know he wants your approval and to only make you proud.”

Louis inhales. Queen Anne narrows her eyes again.

“Since becoming involved, we’ve fallen in love and,” Louis clears his throat as his eyes water, “grown to need each other. We have a…such a burning love and potent need that we can’t simply ignore. This is it. I love him and I always will…forever.”

More slowly, he begs, “On his behalf as well as my own…please…please don’t break us.”

Queen Anne continues to glare at him as she had when they first greeted one another and after a minute, Louis wonders if she actually heard anything he said at all because there had to be some kind of reaction – infuriating anger or extreme disgust or softened understand, anything.

Finally, she bows her head in a sign of releasing him from her company and walks passed.

Tears silently slip and chin falls to his chest, disheartened and at a point of hopelessness. He did everything he could and said everything he could possibly say. He has no more fight left because he just used it all up with his boyfriend’s mother and comforting Harry. What is he to do now? Accept defeat? But he couldn’t. He meant what he said – he couldn’t live without Harry – so how are they to move forward? When they come to light as a couple, what will happen?

Running the back of his hand over his cheek, Louis sniffs and resumes his exit with thoughts that this would be his last time here.

***

Harry texts that he’s going on a day-long date with Aly and Zayn comes over with Niall and a 36-pack.

Louis has a beer can in one hand and iPhone in the other, refreshing a celebrity gossip application every five seconds for updated information and photos of Harry out and about with his “rekindled hot lady love.” Niall tries snatching the phone a couple times but ultimately gives up, watching as his friend’s face grows more and more tired with each sip of beer and new posted picture.

They end up calling Liam and have him drive to a bar. Louis trips while getting out of the car and photographers are right there to document every heavy step, shouting questions at him that sound like static and grasshoppers at midnight to his ears. Niall holds him up, Liam holds onto a stumbling Zayn as they make a path, and they disappear inside, directed to a semi-private booth in the back by the bouncer.

Patrons recognize them and watch in fascination and curiosity as they pass, none of the four meeting the eyes of anyone else nor seemingly aware that there were eyes on them. Of course they knew but they had been expertly trained and could ignore the prying eyes of the whole universe if they had to.

Louis falls hard onto the padded bench and laughs, pulling Niall with and half on top of him. “My little Irish buddy is little and Irish,” he sings happily as Niall pokes his nose. “You’re such a little cutie, my little Irish buddy.”

Liam stares as he scoots across from them and Zayn sways from side to side before collapsing next to him, a waitress unloading a tray of drinks on the table and retreating. “What made you think this was even remotely a good idea?”

Zayn nods at Louis, picking up a drink. “The smile on his face.”

Liam turns to him and frowns. “He’s heartbroken. He shouldn’t be in public like this– I shouldn’t have brought you guys here–”

“Li-Li.” Zayn runs his finger under Liam’s chin and smirks, taking a large gulp as Liam shivers. “It’s not our decision to make.”

Liam stands his ground easily enough. “Except it is when our best friend is incapable of rationally making his own.”

They watch as Niall situates himself on Louis’ lap and plays with the back of his dark hair, staring in adoration as Louis whispers to him about Harry, being gay, and love.

“Prince Harry’s a douche!” Niall yells suddenly and Louis cracks up, head thrown back as he laughs into the air.

Eyebrows creased at their stupidity, Liam snaps quietly, “Shut the fuck up, people can hear you.”

“Good! Let them!” Niall attempts to look over the top of the booth and shout but Liam reaches over and tugs him down by the back of his shirt. “Liam, what the f–!?”

“Chiiiiiill, my little buddy,” Louis giggles and tightly holds Niall, who’s glaring at an indifferent Liam. “Have a shot of Irish whiskey, my little buddy.”

Zayn rests his head on Liam’s shoulder and chuckles. “The smile on his face, mate, come on.”

It’s when Liam’s eyes meet Louis’ that he sees what Zayn means; he isn’t encouraging their behavior but he sees what Zayn meant. The natural tan is greatly reduced and sickly, the bright blues are dulled by surrounding pink and underlying gray circles, the smile is artificial and weak, and overall, he looks…wrong; not their loud, obnoxious, happy Louis. This is someone else and Liam cringes when he and Niall do a shot. The whole thing screams ‘bad idea’ but when Louis looks at him again with an attempt of a smile, he caves – he knows better but – and grabs a drink of his own.

Screw it.

“You guys.” A few hours later, Niall points from Liam to Zayn as he kneels next to Louis, who has completely checked out and is officially just trying to keep his head up and vision as not blurry as possible. “You guys… _cannot_ tell Cassandra about this, no? Ju-Just-Just you can’t, alright? Don’t tell her!”

The bar is more alive at the later hour but still more quiet than usual as everyone is intrigued to hear what One Direction has to say while drinking. A few people walk passed to the bathroom in order to get a glimpse of what they were doing but the bouncer didn’t let any linger long enough to get a good enough picture.

“We won’t, mate, shit,” Liam breathes out, Zayn under his arm and leaning against his side.

Louis feebly touches Niall’s hip, slurs, “Kiss me already.”

On the other side of the city, Harry and Aly are looking over menus when his phone vibrates. He excuses himself and pulls it out, reading a text from one of his security guards that included a fuzzy picture of One Direction cuddling in a booth. Swallowing hard, he replaces the phone in his pocket and does his best to keep his attention on Aly as she talks about her upcoming project presentation.

An hour later and Niall is calling him. He presses ignore four times and ends up excusing himself from Aly, walking from the table and answering outside. He hisses, “Louis better be dying right now or else, because you lot have caused–”

“’m not dyin’.” For Harry, the world stops when Louis’ drunk voice transmits in his ear as he remembers the last time something eerily similar happened. “Don’ be mad, though, I hate ya mad at me–”

“I-I was never mad at _you_ , love, I was mad at…my mum and myself and the expectations–”

“Ya were mad at me, don’ lie. ‘d rather you be mad then lyin’.”

“I would never lie to you, Louis. Never.”

There’s silence and when Louis exhales, Harry gets goosebumps. “’m drunk and…we’re at some bar somewhere an’, like…like drinks–”

“The guys are all with you, yeah? You aren’t alone?”

Louis laughs hard and it pierces Harry’s ear. “Ya aren’ with me, course ‘m bloody alone, Harry.”

Harry looks at his feet, whispers, “I need to go. I’ll…talk to you soon. Get home safe, yeah?”

The line goes dead and Harry wills himself to believe Louis’ fine…he’d be fine…

***

Queen Anne reads the newspaper at breakfast and Harry keeps his head lowered, eating quietly. “Sweet Aly. You two take such wonderful photos.”

Harry hums as she refolds it and clears her throat, getting his attention.

“Mr. Tomlinson and his…friends do as well.” Harry watches as she stands, tossing her napkin on her plate. “Invite him to dinner. Tonight.”

Louis arrives at Buckingham Palace fresh out of the shower but with a throbbing hangover. Appearance-wise, he couldn’t have done better in a sleek white button-up and ironed black pants with hair styled by Liam. He manages to control his churning stomach and dizzy head by the time he’s greeted by Harry in the main private entryway. They take each other in and Harry brings Louis to his chest, kissing his cheek and sighing.

“Rough night?”

Louis puts his hands on Harry’s hips and their foreheads together. “Something like that.”

“You called me. Many times.”

“…Shit.”

Harry’s fingers go under Louis’ collar and pulls out the necklace, the ring hitting and resting on his chest. He stares at it and Louis stares at him, licking his lips. Nodding once, he lets Louis go and leads the way to the formal dining hall, which isn’t used for daily use but more for world leaders and family gatherings.

Standing at the closed door, Harry brushes his fingers over Louis’ and whispers, “I have no idea what this is about…but I’ll love you through it and after it.”

“Always.”

Louis kisses the side of Harry’s neck and Harry pushes the large door open to reveal a grand dining room with gold and lilac accents and a long wooden table stretching from one end of the room to the other. They walk in and Louis closes the door behind them, seeing Queen Anne at the head on the far end with King Robin to her left. He exchanges a look with Harry, who taps his hand again, before they slowly walk over on the opposite side of the king.

Harry kisses Queen Anne on the cheek and Louis lowers his head to both of the sitting hierarchs, pulling out the chair closest to the queen for Harry and helping him back in before sitting himself. Queen Anne stares coldly at him while King Robin smiles gently.

“We’re happy you could join us on such short notice,” he remarks.

Louis really wants a drink from his water glass but is unsure if he’s allowed. The queen is always the first and last to eat but he didn’t know if water – the essential of life – counted. He glances at her glass of water and probably imagines that it’s slightly below full, yet it’s enough to convince himself that she had a sip already and takes a large gulp himself, relieved when Harry or anybody else didn’t stop him.

“I’m happy I could join you on such short notice,” Louis says back with humor, drinking more before setting the empty glass down.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him, pats his knee, and folds his hands on his lap.

King Robin chuckles as waiters place salads in front of them. They’re quite large plates and it’s enough to be an entire lunch-and-a-half for Louis. He isn’t sure if he can eat this whole salad and an entire main entrée, which will be a small portion of salmon with a larger course of beef, as told by the king.

Before he can think better of it, Louis asks, “If you eat all this three times a day, how do you stay so in shape?”

Harry laughs and Queen Anne rolls her eyes, answering, “Royal genes, Mr. Tomlinson, and the stress of 16 commonwealths.”

Harry’s mood shifts back into seriousness and Louis doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like Harry not smiling or being happy. He doesn’t like Harry having to hide and feel ashamed. He doesn’t like Harry going on dates with Aly. He doesn’t like when Harry goes into “prince mode.”

Louis pushes his leafs around the ranch dressing, from the corner of his eye seeing Harry keep his head down and it makes sense where any rumors of social anxiety could originate from.

Queen Anne puts her fork down, glances at King Robin, and turns toward Louis. “Harold, Louis and I had a nice little run-in the other day. Isn’t that right, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Harry whips his head toward Louis, who lifts his shoulders and rubs his lips together. “You did? Why didn’t you tell me?” he quietly asks, though he knows his parents can hear.

“It… I figured maybe… I don’t know–”

“Maybe he was too busy getting pissed at pubs with his three mates,” she icily exclaims and drinks from her wine goblet. “You had quite the night, didn’t you, Mr. Tomlinson? And you told me you were good for my son…your prince.”

Harry opens his mouth as if to say something but predictably doesn’t and Louis runs a hand down his face, embarrassed and preparing for the fact that the bloody Queen of England is about to tear him apart right here. How his life got up to this point is beyond him but it had been going so well, what went wrong?

Harry’s hand stays on Louis’ knee and Louis covers it with his own. He was defeated. _They_ were defeated. Now he could only wait.

“The discussion that we had, Harold, was rather quite a confessional speech on Louis’ part,” she continues, “and I must say that in my 34 years as queen and meeting millions of people, I have not once been talked to in such a way that young Mr. Tomlinson spoke to me.”

Harry sighs at Louis sadly. “Why did you speak to my mother that way, Lou?”

Creasing his eyebrows, Louis shakes his head and turns to Queen Anne. “I-I didn’t think I–”

She raises her hand and he’s silenced. “He spoke to me about you, Harry. About…you two and love. It was the way that he said it, with such…passion and commitment, that had me convinced with no doubt in my mind that he is helplessly in love with you.”

Harry tries to read King Robin’s face on where this is headed but he holds still, eyes on Queen Anne.

She leans to her right and her eyes stare hard into Louis’, who stares right back but with much less power. “You believe that you’re the one for my son, Mr. Tomlinson? You believe that you are worthy of the prince and that you two are the loves of your lives for all eternity? When you’re 30? 50? Dying?”

“I don’t believe it, Your Majesty.” Louis digs his nails into the top of Harry’s hand. “I feel it. I know it to be true.”

Queen Anne sits back in her chair and taps her chin thoughtfully as she looks between her son – the prince – and the commoner – the boy band singer. “Mr. Tomlinson, if I were to accept this relationship between my son and yourself, there are new rules and lifestyle habits that you must accustom yourself to including minimal public intoxication–”

“I-I swear, Your Majesty,” Louis interrupts her – interrupts the Queen – and wiggles in his seat, sits up straighter, “I will never drink a drop of anything but water for the rest of my life if that’s what you want from me–”

“No, I would never ask you suffer this intolerable world without a glass of wine or two.”

Harry bites his lip hard, anxiety flowing through him as he asks, “So, mum?”

Queen Anne glances at King Robin, who gives a nod. “It is decided, then. I approve of this partnership between you, my dear Harry, and Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Good thing, too,” King Robin comments as Harry and Louis hug tightly from their seats, “otherwise dessert would be one hell of an endless torture.”

Harry spins in his chair and wraps his arms tightly around Louis’ waist, who stares at Queen Anne over his shoulder with a soft smile.

She continues, though her attention is to King Robin, “I suggest that we either set up an intimate television interview or large news conference before the magazine story is released…”

Louis tunes her out when Harry kisses him gently and he kisses back, not ashamed or afraid of doing so without privacy anymore.

***

They hold hands as Harry takes him through a wing of the palace that he’s never been to before. It’s the actual living quarters of the royal family and very few eyes have ever been through it before.

“The bloody queen fucking wants you with her son!” Niall screams into his ear and Louis flinches, pulling the phone away for a second. “Fucking shit, Lou, how the hell did you get so lucky?!”

“Brainwashing methods,” Zayn comments from the background.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Louis admits, gazing around at the paintings and antiques they pass.

After he hangs up and they walk a little more, they stop in front of a door and Harry turns to him. “My bedroom.”

Louis creases his eyebrows. “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here? I feel like it’s not–”

“You’ve been given approval by the queen. You can pretty much live in this palace now– the President of the United States doesn’t even get approval from the queen nor is he allowed in this wing of the palace.”

Louis feels special and holds Harry’s hand tighter as he opens the door.

Louis is more than impressed at what he sees. The room is humongous though inviting and warm with cherry wood furniture and deep crimson schemes. There’s a four-poster bed and fireplace with also a living area with a couch and two chairs. The lighting is dim and carpet is plush. He wonders why the hell Harry ever wanted to spend the night at his dump.

“I have a ten-person hot tub we can use later, too,” Harry informs him and shuts the door once they’re inside, kicking his shoes off.

“I think…that you are no longer allowed to come over because this is definitely a billion times better–”

“I disagree.” Harry walks over and starts the fireplace as Louis stays frozen by the door. “Wherever you are is a billion times better.”

“…You really just said that.”

Harry groans and nods, wiggling his finger at Louis for him to come over.

Louis toes his shoes off and crosses the big room, hands fitting on Harry’s hips easily and watching as he undoes the first three buttons of his shirt.

Harry stares at the now exposed collarbone and licks his lips. “I’m so happy right now,” he whispers with a laugh. “So happy that you’re here and mum approves and that everything will turn out okay.”

“I wouldn’t have let it turn out any other way, love.”

Harry tugs on the two open sides of Louis’ shirt and leads them over to his bed, sitting on the side and inhaling slowly as Louis puts a hand on his chest and kisses him. He opens his legs for Louis to fit between and unbuttons the rest of his shirt, hands keen as they skim over the warm chest and back. He’s not sure why but this particular moment feels different than all the other times they made love or had fast sex, and he was certain it had nothing to do with his mum because although he was happy about that, his mother’s acceptance was secondary to Louis’ love. It may have been his bedroom – the fact they are about to do this in a room where he grew up and Louis is with him there.

Louis is with him for the rest of his life.

Harry pushes the thin shirt from Louis’ shoulders and it falls to the ground. Not to be outdone, Louis pulls Harry’s sweater off and kisses him harder, pushing him on his back before they take off their own pants and briefs. Louis’ vision fuzzes as Harry’s pale legs become bare and hard cock released, hands freezing on the band of his briefs as he takes in the nude prince lying in front of him.

Niall was right, what the fuck did he do to get so lucky?

Harry blushes and fingers brush over Louis’ frozen hands. “Almost, love.”

Louis finishes undressing and they shift towards the center of the bed, going under the covers with hips lined up and cocks pressing together when he sits on Harry’s hips. Their eyes don’t break apart and he shivers despite how warm their bodies are, palms running up and down Harry’s smooth arms before lacing their fingers and pinning them next to Harry’s head.

He lowers himself and licks Harry’s bottom lip before sliding his tongue passed the parted lips, only then closing his eyes because Harry’s kissing back so sweet and is so slowly rubbing their hips together. Sweetness dissolves over time and becomes hungry, Harry raising his back off the bed to kiss faster and whimpering when Louis’ tongue shoves harder.

Breathing a bit heavy and lips red, Louis pulls back and Harry lies down once more. Their cocks are wet between their stomachs and Louis lets go of Harry’s hands, which are immediately drawn to Louis’ waist. He bites his lip, suddenly feeling anxious and too eager, and teasingly pushes two fingers inside Harry, who gasps softly and arches his hips off the bed. Pleased, he smiles at the wet noise his fingers produce as they move around slowly, mouth watering at how fucking gorgeous Harry looks beneath him and how fucking good he’s going to make this.

Harry moans quietly when Louis bites his neck and adds another finger, muscles tensing around them desperately because he wants Louis’ cock and how in the world is this singer so good at this? He pants louder as the tip of Louis’ tongue so softly licks down his neck, to his shoulder, and back again, wet noises from the fingers more evident.

Louis smirks and grabs the back of Harry’s thighs to lift his hips from the bed and wrap his legs around his waist. He positions his cock right against Harry’s hole and stares at Harry’s flushed, ready face. A single nod later, his cock is surrounded and both men groan in relief and anticipation.

Louis shifts a little and watches Harry closely because no matter how many times they do this or how rough they've done it in the past, he'll always start mindfully and be careful. Harry's face is lax and mouth open, staring back with glazed eyes and heavy lids. If Louis were to show a picture of the word bliss, that would be it.

He puts a hand on Harry's cheek and leans down, kissing him quickly, before moving his hips and pushing his cock further. Harry gasps again and closes his eyes, scratching Louis' chest to settle on his stomach. The abs tense underneath momentarily, Louis in awe at how beautiful Harry – this prince, _his_ prince – could be and how trusting he was that Louis would take care of him.

The wood in the fireplace crackles around them and the comforter falls down to Louis' mid-back. When he starts to thrust slowly, Harry connects their eyes once more and swallows hard. He feels hypnotized by the sparkling blues and their intensity makes his cock leak more, makes him more wet. He feels like the only person in the world to Louis and nothing can compare to how fucking special that makes him feel. If he could have anything for the rest of his life aside from Louis' love, it'd be this gaze.

"You...feel so...so good," Louis whispers and thumb moving across Harry's cheek. "So beautiful under me."

Harry whimpers and pushes his hips up suddenly for Louis' cock to slide deeper, both of them moaning out with a shiver passing through them. "I love you," he mumbles in a rush before breathing hard as sweat shines over his body.

"I love you," Louis returns, taking hold of Harry's hips firmly and finally doing what he's been waiting for: fucking him into oblivion.

Louis keeps his speed consistent – as he should, given his career – pushing his hips fast and short and pounding his cock rough and deep. He moans, the necklace swinging across his upper chest, and Harry whimpers, cock bouncing in between them, and bites his lower neck hard because he wants marks that have the potential to be seen and photographed for the world.

Harry moans loud and removes a hand from Louis' stomach to bring to his ignored cock, stroking unsteadily and mumbling, "Almost, baby, please. Fuck me."

Louis runs both hands through Harry's hair and touches their foreheads together, eyes shut tight as he feels himself getting close and moist breath pants into Harry's open lips. He cries out, hips out of sync for a few thrusts, and comes, fingers flexing in Harry's curls.

Harry pulls hard on his cock, which is now covered in Louis' semen as well as his hand, and comes not seconds later against their stomachs, spurting and mixing with Louis'. They both look down to watch it happen and Louis whimpers, running his fingers through it as Harry relaxes under him and stares up at him.

"Christ, you're amazing," he whispers and Louis tears his eyes away, blushing and pulling out. He whines at the loss as Louis pulls the fallen blankets back up and lies down on him. "I mean it, love, and I'll tell you every day, every hour."

Louis keeps his eyes on Harry, who wraps shaky fingers around the silver chain and pulls it from his neck. Harry unhooks the clasp, slides the ring off, and replaces the chain around Louis neck. He takes Louis' right hand and slips the ring on the fourth finger with a smile. "No more hiding."

"Hate to break the moment," Harry rolls his eyes at Louis' humored voice, "but I need to know: how did you get the size right?"

Harry wiggles his eyebrows and brushes their lips lightly. "I know people."

***

Seated in the formal media room next to Harry on the cream couch with light blue florals, Louis is tense and the most nervous he's ever been in his whole life as he watches the BBC crew set up lights, microphones, and cameras around them. He's kind of on the verge of tears and wonders how Harry can be so _eh_ right now.

The interviewer seats himself across from them with what appears, Louis seems, is a genuine smile meant to comfort him. It doesn't work and Louis blinks blankly at him. He – and Harry – weren't just coming out as boyfriends but coming out in general, period.

Harry presses his nose to Louis' cheek, grabs his obviously shaking wrist, and says, "You're ready. _We're_ ready to do this."

Behind the cameras stand Queen Anne and Louis' mother, Jay, talking low as they look at their sons. More to the side are King Robin, Gemma, Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

"Life will only get easier once this is over. I love you. I wouldn't let this happen if it didn't make things better for us."

The producer announces, "One minute."

Louis feels like he's about to have a panic attack and his collar his choking him suddenly and there are so many people just _staring_ , don't these mannequins blink, and why did he have Queen Anne invite his _mum_ –

Harry leans over and kisses Louis softly. The room aws but neither hear as Louis lets Harry's lips take his full attention as well as his anxiety and shakes. His thumb goes over the ring and the chain on his neck is warm as it loosens his collar.

"30 seconds."

Water refills are placed in front of them and Harry rubs Louis' wrist, whispers, "You aren't alone. I won't let you go. Ever."

Louis takes a deep breath and the interviewer asks if they're ready. He turns to him and gives a confident nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on LJ.
> 
>  
> 
> <http://krellinad.livejournal.com/19023.html>


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